No Good Deed
by BlueDragonflame
Summary: Voldemort has fallen, but he was far from the only casualty of the Second War. Harry is left to mourn his losses and comes up with a desperate plan to bring back the people he loves. But is it worth the cost?


Authors Notes: This is what happens when you listen to the cast recording of "Wicked" twenty million times while browsing through Harry Potter fanfiction. You have been warned.

Timeline: 7th year, post final battle. Voldemort is dead, but he isn't the only one.

Disclaimer: Don't Own Harry Potter, or the chant from the song "No Good Deed" from "Wicked."

He had felt numb. There had been nothing. No anger, no clench in his stomach at the injustice of it all, no relief for the world, no sorrow for lost innocence, no joy at the rest of his life spreading before him; in the end there hadn't even been hate. Funny, he had always thought there would be some kind of completion afterwards, but everything was hollow.

Once, in the summer after his third year, Harry had thought about what life would be like after Voldemort. He would be able to live his life like a normal wizard: no more three-headed dogs, giant basilisks, or treacherous rats. Pettigrew, having no one to return to, would be caught, and he, Harry, would live with his finally-cleared godfather, Sirius Black. Maybe Professor Lupin would come to stay with them, too. Ron and Hermione would visit during the holidays, and when September rolled around, he'd actually be sorry to be leaving home.

_Home_. It was strange how such a simple word brought it all back. Everything he didn't have-couldn't have- ever again.

Or couldn't he? Why not? After everything, didn't he deserve a little happiness? Didn't _they_? Of course they did. It was all in the timing. With that thought, he tasted the cusp of all the emotions he thought had burned away forever in the horrible green light.

It was surprising, how easy it had all been. A request for a private farewell to Hogwarts and a carefully planned detour to the Room of Requirement; the acquisition of certain select items; a frantic perusing over an ancient book and various translation tools were all he need to turn back time and set things right.

It wasn't difficult to choose the turning point. June, 1996. The last day of the OWLs. The day everything had been well and truly lost, one way or the other.

It took him some time to get from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade and to the Ministry, but Harry was still well ahead of schedule when he finally apparated into the deserted courtroom where his trial had been held during the summer before Fifth Year. A lifetime ago he might've found the irony funny. He set up his cauldron and this time, he did laugh. Who would have thought: Snape's lessons had their uses after all.

He took out the meticulous notes he'd made; Hermione had finally rubbed off on him, now that she wasn't there with the answers.

_No, Harry! Get out of the way!_

Ron would've told him in no uncertain terms how horrific he found that turn of events.

_Couldn't let him get Ginny. You get it right, Harry? You've gotta make sure she's okay. Alright, mate? You've gotta make sure…_

Well, everything would be all right now. He'd make sure. He stirred the revolting concoction and started to chant...

_Eleka nahmen nahmen_

_Ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen_

_Eleka nahmen nahmen_

_Ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen..._

_Let his flesh not be torn_

_Let his blood leave no stain_

_Though they beat him _

_Let him feel no pain_

_Let his bones never break _

_And however they try to destroy him_

_Let him never die _

_Let him never die_

Flitwick had held him after class one day in the beginning of Sixth Year. "You know, Mr. Potter, witches and wizards have been practicing incantations for generations, but only a very small few realize this simple truth: Words are words, but if you can't find the meaning behind them, if you can't focus on what you're trying to accomplish _with _the words, you will have very little success studying magic."

Harry had tried to interject, but Flitwick continued, "Up until recently you have only suffered from the occasional block as any student might, but as of late you don't seem to be able to perform as well as you have in the past. I know you have your reasons, but if you continue as you are I can say one thing with confidence: People. Will. **Die**. If you improve significantly, people will still die, but there may be less. Even if it's a difference of one less life lost, that should be worth it to you, Mr. Potter, because that single person may be Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley. In short, next class I expect you to come fully prepared to give me your best. If you refuse to do so out of self-pity, then you are not the man I thought you were."

Harry had looked upon the diminutive Charms Professor with new eyes that day, and took the old warrior's words to heart, working harder than he ever had before in all of his classes, even Potions.

Now, with any luck, his training would pay off with not one, but three precious lives. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he had hope; so he kept chanting…

_Eleka nahmen nahmen_

_Ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen_

_Eleka nahmen nahmen_

_Ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen…_


End file.
